


Through the Years We All Will Be Together, If the Fates Allow

by pooh_collector



Series: Through the Years [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi, just my usual h/c ansty fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pooh_collector/pseuds/pooh_collector
Summary: Just before the Nazi treasure arc, Peter, Neal and El begin a relationship that ends abruptly when Peter sends Neal away after the trauma of El's kidnapping.  Four years later fate brings them back together.  Title from:  Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.Special thanks to angel for all her help with this crazy fic.





	Through the Years We All Will Be Together, If the Fates Allow

Prologue

_Peter,_

_I know you can't forgive me for what happened to Elizabeth. I never meant to put her in jeopardy, but my best intentions don't change the fact that it was my fault and mine alone that Keller took her._

_My intention now, is to quietly serve the rest of my time with the FBI at the Newark office. I'll do my job to the best of my ability, I'll stay out of trouble, follow orders, everything by the book. You won't find my name on any wanted posters later either. That is my solemn promise to you and El._

_There is one thing that I need you to know. I couldn't take the treasure and go when Moz wanted me to. I couldn't leave you and Elizabeth. I knew that the life Moz was offering me was the best one I could hope for, a life of luxury and freedom in whatever far off corner of the world we chose. But, it wasn't what I wanted. In my heart, I wanted you and El. I know we were just beginning, but I was so in love with the life the two of you had and with the dream of sharing that life with you, that all I wanted was to stay. But, I know now that I didn't really belong in your life. I'm Neal Caffrey, professional thief, liar, conman, and you were everything I could never be. Who knew that my cappuccino in the clouds was really Maxwell House at the Burkes' kitchen counter?_

_I love you and El. I always will. And, I will do everything in power to never hurt either of you again._

_Goodbye Peter,_  
_Neal_  
  
Four Years Later

El sat at the dining room table, her laptop open before her displaying the course catalog for the spring semester at NYU. She was excited about returning to school, but she had to admit to a bit of trepidation too. It had been two decades since she had gotten her bachelor's degree. And, to pursue a Master's in Art History while running Burke Premier Events and doing freelance art sales, was a tremendous commitment. But, it had always been her dream to get the degree. Yvonne was doing most of the day-to-day management at BPE and she loved being back in the art world and if she wanted this part of her career to continue to grow, she needed the degree. And, naturally, Peter had supported her decision one-hundred percent.

So, now all she needed to do was choose her first semester courses. There was one in Pop Art that she definitely wanted to take, and she was required to take graduate seminar, that left her with one open slot. She was scanning down the list of class descriptions when something caught her eye. There was a class in Medieval Illuminations and the instructor name read N. Caffrey, Ph.D.

I couldn’t be. El carefully scrolled through the course list, there were three other classes with the same instructor, another class in Medieval art, one in Renaissance sculpture and another devoted to Italian Renaissance painters.

But, it couldn't be Neal. El scrolled to the top of the webpage and clicked the link for the department instructors. In the thumbnail photo next to his name Neal was sporting a salt and pepper beard. If anything, he looked even more handsome than the last time she had seen him four years ago, when Peter had made the decision to remove Neal from their lives and she had agreed. She missed him, and she was certain that Peter did too, despite everything.

The short bio next to Neal's name was inordinately brief. It stated that he had received his doctorate from NYU and that he specialized in Medieval and Renaissance art and artists.

She had no idea what had become of him after he had been sent to Newark. Could he have somehow finished his time with the FBI and gone through all the education necessary to gain a Ph.D. in just four years? It was hard to imagine, even for Neal.

"Hey, don't tell me graduate school has already got you down?" Peter asked as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She had been so intent on the screen that she hadn't noticed Peter's approach. She fumbled for a moment, unsure whether to close her laptop, or just scroll away from Neal's photo, certain that she didn't want Peter to see what had her so intent until she had had a chance to figure out what, if anything to say to him about it.

But her hesitation robbed her of the opportunity. She felt Peter stiffen behind her as his eyes took in the familiar face on the screen. "El?"

"I was looking at the course offerings for the spring semester and I saw his name. He's a professor of Medieval and Renaissance art."

Peter pulled away from his wife. "That's not possible."

El turned in her chair to look up at him. His face was dark, hooded and El could see the pain of Neal's betrayal displayed plainly in Peter's features again, as if the events surrounding the U-boat treasure had happened just yesterday. Peter had always rightfully blamed Keller for her kidnapping, it was the betrayal Peter felt at Neal's lies about the treasure that had led to their breakup and Peter's desire to send Neal away.

"It says that he's an NYU graduate. That's not something he could fake."

Peter shook his head. "Then he had to have conned his way into the program to begin with. He never graduated high school, El. Dammit, he couldn't stay clean. He couldn’t keep a promise, not even once."

El stood and wrapped Peter in her arms. "I'm sorry. I know, despite everything, that you still care about him. I do too."

"God, how I wish I didn't."

***

Peter spent the majority of that night and the next day wrestling with what to do with what he had learned about how Neal was now living his life. Despite the promise Neal had made in the letter that was the last communication they had had, part of Peter had wondered when he was going to find Neal's name on a wanted poster or when he would get an inquiry from law enforcement in some far-flung destination about a suspect that matched Neal's description.

He wanted to believe in the better nature that he knew without a doubt resided somewhere in his former partner's heart, but there was a reason that he had ended their relationship, and even his CI contract with Neal, after Neal's lies about the U-boat treasure had so fantastically hit the fan.

Peter considered contacting the university, telling them exactly who and what Neal was, but in the end, he couldn't bring himself to be the impetus to Neal's return to prison, at least not without confronting Neal first and finding out what had prompted him to go back on his promise to him and Elizabeth.

So that's how he found himself on Riverside Drive on a cold November night. He arrived at the mansion just after eight, on what he hoped was still June's bridge night. He didn't recognize the maid who answered the door, a good thing.

"I'm here to see Neal."

"I'm sorry, he's not at home now."

"Oh, I thought this was when he told me to come by." There were some skills Peter had learned from the conman that still came in handy.

The maid glanced down at the Timex on her wrist. "He's just down the street, at the gym. He shouldn't be too much longer, if you would like to wait."

The gym just down the street, the one with the pool that had been inside Neal's radius. The idea of confronting Neal in a public place had a certain appeal. "No, that's okay. I'll catch him some other time. Thank you." Peter smiled and made his way back onto the sidewalk.

Peter headed downtown, setting a brisk pace. The wind was icy and sharp, cutting right through his overcoat. Typical New York weather just days before Thanksgiving, but he would be glad when this was over, and he could go home and sit with El in front of the fireplace.

The entrance to the gym was security locked, but he followed some guy who was wearing a muscle shirt and no coat in the door by saying he had left his keys in his locker and hadn't realized until he had gotten to his car.

He looked for Neal in the locker room first, glanced down each of the rows separated by walls of metal lockers. When that proved fruitless, he went downstairs to the basement, where the pool was located.

The air in the pool room was a complete contrast to the bitterly cold air outside. It was warm and humid and smelled like the ocean. Peter remembered coming here once with Neal back in the day, and his surprise at learning the pool was saltwater instead of the noxious chlorine-treated fresh water he had expected.

The room was empty, except for one lone figure swimming in the lane closest to the far end of the pool. Peter knew immediately from the dark hair and chiseled lines of his frame that it was Neal.

He walked over to stand at the end of the lane and waited for Neal to lift his head and see him.  
  
***

Neal had no idea how long he had been in the pool. He had stopped counting laps at 40, but kept going, wanting to wear himself down in the hopes of quelling the anxious fidget that this point in the semester always seemed to create in his body and his mind. Thanksgiving break was about to start and once it was over, the mad rush to the end of the semester would begin, along with its endless student conferences and eight million papers to grade.

When he was thoroughly exhausted, he forced himself to do two more laps before he finally pulled his head from the water and pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the pool.

"Neal."

Neal startled at the sound of his name so badly that he almost fell back into the water. He hadn't heard Peter say his name in four long years, but he would always recognize the sound of his former partner's voice and the tone which spoke of disappointment and anger.

Neal pulled the goggles from his eyes and turned his head in the direction Peter's voice had come from. "Peter." He tried to keep his own voice neutral and calm. The thundering of his heart and the goose pimples that had risen on his skin had nothing to do with his exertions in the pool or the temperature of the air in the natatorium.

"I should have known you wouldn't keep the promise you made to me and El."

Neal heard the disappointment and the anger again, but this time he also heard the note of sadness. "I haven't done anything wrong," he replied carefully.

Peter chuffed out a short laugh. "That's right. In your mind as long as no one gets hurt, you've done nothing wrong."

Neal pulled his legs from the water and shifted so that he was sitting on the wet tile facing Peter. "Peter, I have no idea what you're talking about, and I have not, nor will I ever, break my promise to you and Elizabeth."

"Dammit, Neal. I came here hoping for an explanation, for an excuse at least. Flat-out denials, that's new even for you."

Neal shook his head. "I’m not trying to deny anything. If I had any idea what you were talking about, maybe I would have an explanation." He was trying to stay calm, but Peter's accusatory tone and the smell of salt in the air of the natatorium kept bringing him back to that day on the pier, when the warehouse exploded, and the life Neal had dreamed of having with Peter and El went up in flames with it.

"NYU."

Neal nodded. "Yes, I work there now."

"As a professor?" Peter's skepticism was undeniable.

"Yes, as a professor. I finished my Ph.D. in the spring."

"I know you're capable of a lot of things Neal, but high school drop out to Ph.D. in four years, that's incredible even for you."

Neal couldn't help allowing some of his own frustration to color his words. "And, yet that's exactly what I did. I started while I was with the Newark office and despite my lack of previous formal education I had a bit of leg up in art history. It helped, and I worked hard and I'm Dr. Neal Caffrey now."

"You know I have to take this the NYU administration?"

"Please do," Neal replied hearing the ring of disappointment in his own voice now.

Peter turned and walked away without another word. When the door leading back upstairs closed with a resounding bang Neal drew up his knees, wrapped his arms around them and shook as the adrenaline leached from his body. Exposed, vulnerable and dripping wet was not how he ever dreamed of encountering Peter again.

***

Peter spent the drive out to Brooklyn fuming. He hadn't expected Neal to deny that he was conning the administration at NYU. He expected Neal to insist that there was nothing inherently wrong with what he was doing. He even expected Neal to be indignant. But he hadn't expected Neal to try to con him, to lie, to claim that he had legitimately gotten the degrees.

He was still fuming when he finally arrived home to find El on the sofa curled up with a book and a roaring fire. He sat beside her with a sigh. "Long day?" She asked.

He nodded. "I went to see Neal."

She raised her eyebrows, her blue eyes, so much like Neal's growing brighter with wonder. "I take it it didn't go well."

"No. He claims he did it. He got his GED, then got whatever degrees he needed to become Dr. Neal Caffrey."

"And, you don't believe him?" She asked softly. As much as it hurt her to think of Neal returning to the life he lived before he was a part of their lives, she knew it was so much worse for her husband. Peter had staked his career and then his heart on his belief in Neal's potential, on the inner good they both knew he possessed. Seeing Neal betray that trust was a pain Peter barely made it through the last time. She didn't want to have to see him try to deal with it again.

"I wish I did."

El reached over and pulled Peter into her arms. He held himself stiffly at first, but finally melted into her warmth. "What are you going to do?" She eventually asked.

"Set up an appointment with the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. Let him know what I know."

He put his own arms around her and held her tightly. "I don't want to do this, El."

"What other choice do you have?"

"None. Despite the lies, the years, despite everything, he's still my responsibility."

***

Mozzie let himself into Neal's apartment on the Saturday after Thanksgiving to find Stravinsky's _Songs of the Volga Boatman_ resounding through the space. He sighed. The piece had been a favorite of Neal's when he had first been banished from Peter and El's life and through the long year after that as well. He hadn't heard it in a long time and had to wonder what had put Neal in the dark mood it had to foretell.

"Neal?" He called out to alert his friend to his arrival.

"Here, Moz," Neal replied from the sofa.

Mozzie turned the corner to find Neal lounging on the sofa, his bent knees holding up his tablet. He looked tired and rumpled, dressed casually in faded jeans and a black tee shirt, his bare feet resting on the sofa cushion. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

Mozzie rolled his eyes. If he had a nickel for every time he'd heard those words from Neal in the past four years. "You don't look good and you're listening to Stravinsky, so what gives?"

Neal hesitated and when he finally spoke again, Mozzie immediately understood the reason for his friend's bleak mood. "Peter came to see me the other day."

"Why would the Suit come to see you now?"

Neal shook his head. "He somehow found out that I'm at NYU. Thinks I'm conning them. That I couldn’t possibly have really earned my Ph.D."

As Mozzie sat in the unoccupied corner of the couch he could see tears glistening the corners of Neal's eyes. "I'm sorry, man."

"He said I broke the promise I made to him and El. You know I wouldn't do that."

"Despite my repeated attempts to draw you back into the game, you're the most upstanding citizen I know. How much do you think the Suit knows?"

Neal shrugged. "I don't know. What happened in Newark isn't classified. He can find out any time he wants. And the rest of it, he said he's going to see the Dean at NYU – let him know what he knows."

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. Kittridge loves you."

That got a small smile from Neal, but it faded quickly. "At least someone does."

"You know I'm here Neal, whatever happens and whatever you need."

"I know. Thanks, Moz."

***

The Dean, Alan Kittridge, Peter found out when he called the school the morning after his meeting with Neal, was away at a conference and wouldn't be back until the Monday after Thanksgiving. He hated to wait, he wanted to get this over and done, and get Neal out of his life again, but he didn't want to have this conversation with anyone of lesser stature.

He tried to put it out of his head, for El's sake if nothing else, but nothing tasted right on Thanksgiving, not even his beloved pecan pie and through the weekend that followed he couldn't get rid of the anxious butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach.

They were still there, making the cup of coffee Peter had consumed on his drive into Manhattan a bad idea, when he arrived at the Dean's office promptly at ten for their meeting on Monday morning.  
  
Alan Kittridge looked to be about Peter's age, with greying sideburns and a warm smile. He ushered Peter into his office and pointed him to a sofa in a small seating area in a corner of his office. As he sat in a wingback chair opposite Peter he asked, "What brings you to NYU today Agent Burke?"

"Neal Caffrey."

Kittridge's smile grew wider. "I assume you're looking to borrow him for some case you're working? Well, I'm afraid he won't be available until after finals, just before Christmas."

"No, I…" The Dean's assumption had thrown him. He had expected him to know nothing of Neal's former association with the FBI. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you would know about Neal's time with the Bureau. I'm actually here to tell you about that and about what precipitated it."

Kittridge sat back in his chair. "I see. You want to inform me about Neal's criminal past, the cons, and the schemes and the forgeries."

Peter nodded. "Yes. Clearly, he's told you some of it, but there's more."

"No agent, I can assure you he's told me all of it, and I have confirmation of that from Dean Liu, his former supervisory agent from Newark."

This conversation was not going the way Peter had imagined that it would at all. Was it possible that Neal had told him the truth last week? Was it possible that Neal had kept his promise? "I apologize if I've overstepped, but I know Neal. I worked with him in the New York office for nearly three years. I know he dropped out of high school, so when I learned that he suddenly had a Ph.D., I had to question it."

"There was nothing sudden about it, I can assure you. Neal is remarkably gifted and driven. He got one answer wrong on his GED, which he took just after his move to the Newark office. After interviewing him I allowed him to test out of quite a few of his required undergraduate courses. He was a diligent and dedicated student through every semester, save the one, until he defended his thesis this spring. Years of art forgery proved to be an excellent background for a Ph.D. in art history."

"That's more or less what Neal said when I talked to him."

" _Talked_ to him? Agent Burke, Neal is a tremendous asset to this program and this university. He's a wonderful, patient teacher. He's smart, inspired and there is absolutely nothing you could tell me about Neal that could change my opinion of him. I'm proud to have him on our faculty and to call him my friend."

The Dean stood. "I believe this concludes our discussion."

Peter decided to take the chastisement for what it was. He stood, nodded and left the Dean's office without uttering another word. On his way back to the car, the Dean's words echoed in his head. He couldn't deny that Neal had the potential to be all of the things that Kittridge had claimed. Neal was masterful, and he could certainly be driven and dedicated. He had proven it while at the bureau and Peter had seen glimpses of all of that in him while he was chasing Neal too.

Why was it so hard to believe that Neal had really changed, that he had indeed kept his promise to him and El? There was only one answer to that question. If Neal was a leopard who could change his spots, he had given up on Neal and their relationship far too soon, and he had thrown away what could have been the best thing to happen to him and El since their marriage.

***

Peter arrived home that evening to find El in the kitchen. "Hey hon," he said in greeting as he moved around the island to kiss her on the cheek.

"How was your day?" She asked, knowing that he had planned to meet with the NYU Dean.

Peter shrugged with his eyebrows. "Confusing."

El turning away from the counter to face her husband. "He knew about Neal, didn't he?"

He nodded. "Everything. Neal apparently was completely honest about his past and Liu, the SAC in Newark spoke with him too."

El nodded in reply and then turned back to the salad she was preparing.

"You knew?" Peter framed it as a question, but he was suddenly certain that his wife had known that Neal had been completely honest in his application to the university.

"Not at first. When I saw his name in the course catalog, it was such a surprise, but then I realized it shouldn't have been." El put down the knife she was using to slice cucumbers and turned back to face Peter again. "What options did he have? Stay with bureau in some capacity, work as some sort of a security consultant, sell men's suits? Neal's an intellectual, an artist, a creative spirit. Honestly, academia makes a lot of sense, especially if he meant to keep his promise to us and to himself."

Peter couldn’t fail to hear a note of reproach in El's final words. "Do you resent me for sending him away four years ago?"

El smiled softly. "No, hon. You were trying to protect us both. Neal screwed up, he lied to us and he betrayed your trust. But, it was Keller who kidnapped me, and who almost cost us everything. And, maybe it was because Keller was out of your reach, but I think you made Neal pay the price for his actions."

"Keller never would have found his way into our lives without Neal."

"That's true. But if it wasn't for an embezzler I never would have found my way into your life. Loving Neal was a risk, but it wasn't as if we didn't know who he was when we decided to take that step into a relationship with him."

"I had hoped he had changed."

"I think he did. I just think it may have taken longer than you expected." She punctuated that thought with a kiss to his lips and then went back to her salad preparation leaving Peter even more confused than he had been when he had left Kittridge's office that morning.

***

Neal was in his office finishing his notes for tomorrow's undergraduate seminar in medieval art and Roman Catholicism when he heard a knock on the door to his small office.

He shook his head hoping it wasn't a student. It was outside of his normal office hours, but this close to the end of the term one could never be sure. "Come."

The door opened, and Neal heard Alan Kittridge's voice. "Neal, I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"No Alan, of course not. Please take a seat."

The Dean slid into one of the two chairs that were usually occupied by Neal's students before he spoke again. "I thought I should let you know that I had a visit from an FBI agent the other day."

Neal sighed and slumped back in his chair. "Peter Burke."

"Yes. He said you knew him?"

"He was the agent who chased me for three years, put me in prison and got me out."

"And the agent who sent you to Newark."

Neal nodded. "The agent I lied to, more than once. I promised him when I left the New York office that I wouldn't disappoint him again, that I would live an honest life. I guess he thought I was still lying or that I wasn't capable of truly going straight."

Alan looked across the desk at the man he knew, Neal Caffrey, Ph.D. The man who had never lied to him, had never shirked a responsibility, who had never made excuses, despite having ample cause, who had never been anything but a risk worth taking and an upstanding citizen. It was obvious that Agent Burke's opinion still mattered despite the years and all that Neal had accomplished in them. "I'm sorry, Neal. I did set him straight. I wish there was more I could do."

Neal smiled and shook his head. "You've already done so much for me. Thank you, Alan."

Alan stood, the legs of his chair squeaking against the wooden floor. Neal followed suit and held out his hand, which Alan took. As they shook, Alan said "I look forward to seeing you next Friday at the faculty holiday party."

"I'll be there," Neal replied.

With that Alan left, closing the door to Neal's office behind him.

Neal sat with a tired sigh. He pulled off his glasses and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He knew Peter wouldn't let it go, that he would keep his promise to talk to Alan. But that didn't stop Peter's continued distrust from hurting. In his happiest private dreams, Peter and El found out about his work at NYU and instead of questioning and doubting him, they were proud of him, for keeping his word, for finding meaningful work, for becoming the man he knew they always wanted him to be.

But, that was nothing but a pipe dream. After his lies and his damn secrets nearly cost Elizabeth's life, he didn't deserve their trust, or anything else from them. He couldn't expect time, or his best intentions to heal that wound, but maybe someday, if he was lucky, time might heal his broken heart.

***

With the exception of the Christmas tree standing brightly lit in one corner of the living room, it was a fairly typical evening in the Burke household. El was sitting on one side of the dining room table working on her laptop and Peter was sitting just across from her ostensibly reading through case files. She was trying to sort through the final table arrangements for a corporate Christmas party on Saturday, but the repeated sighs coming from her husband were proving too distracting.

When Peter sighed yet again, El lifted her eyes from her computer screen and said, "Peter, you've been brooding for days. Would you just go and talk to him?"

"Who?"

El rolled her eyes in lieu of replying.

"I have no idea what to say," Peter finally said.

"You could start with an apology."

Peter nodded. "I'm not sure that will be enough. I was pretty…"

"Accusatory?"

"Yeah, and blunt."

"He told me the truth, but I refused to believe him. I didn't necessarily owe him my trust, but the way I spoke to him, I wasn't fair to him, El."  
  
El hesitated before voicing the question that had been on her mind since Peter had come home from his visit to NYU. Maybe it wasn't fair of her to ask, but maybe it was necessary. "Two weeks ago, or four years ago?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I sent him away because I couldn't be sure he wouldn't hurt us again. I still think it was the right thing to do. But, maybe completely shutting him wasn't."

"You knew he was always capable of being honest and ethical, we talked about it before we invited him into our relationship. But maybe he needed to be on his own to figure out how."

"Maybe."

"What do you want to do Peter?"

"For starters, you're right. I need to apologize and let him know that I'm proud of him for who he's become. Beyond that, I don't know."

***

Neal could hear the music as soon as he reached the landing outside of the door to his apartment. The sound system that Mozzie had installed for him three and a half years ago was a good one and he was obviously making use of it, to play Christmas music of all things.

It had been a long day at school and Neal had been battling a headache all afternoon and a Mozzie filled with holiday cheer was not on the list of things he wanted to deal with tonight. He took a steadying breath and then opened the door. The strains of Jingle Bells and the scent of pine assaulted him as he walked in the room. "Mozzie," Neal called out over the music.

"Alexa, turn the volume down to three," Neal heard Mozzie say from across the room. The volume decreased to a much more acceptable background noise level and then Mozzie spoke again. "Welcome home Neal."

Neal walked over to the table, dropped his things down and then proceeded to take off his overcoat. "What's going on in here," he asked as he draped the coat over the back of a chair.

Mozzie was next to the fireplace. "Just putting up some garland on the mantle. I thought the place could use a little holiday spirit."

"You mean you thought I could use a little holiday spirit." Neal's tone was dark and just a little nasty and he regretted the words as soon as he said them, but this Christmas had lost its magic the night Peter had found him at the gym and he was in no mood to try and find it again.

"Alexa, turn off the music." The change in Mozzie’s mood was obvious from the change in his voice.

Moments later he was at the door. "I'll see you later, Neal." Then he was gone, and Neal was left with the silence that he had asked for, but didn't really want.

He pulled a chair away from the table and sat. Then he tugged his glasses off his eyes and dropped them onto the table. He would send Mozzie a text and apologize in a few minutes, once he got the thumping in his head to slow down. As usual, Mozzie was simply trying to help. He had no right to take his anger out on Moz, especially when he knew exactly why he was in a miserable mood and who deserved the blame for it. Peter's visit had been a terrible reminder of all he had ruined; all the Christmases that he would spend alone because when he had had a chance at a happily ever after he couldn't play it straight, he couldn’t fully commit to living an honest life.

He rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his temples with his thumbs.

He was just starting to feel a little bit better, when there was a sharp knock at the door.

Mozzie, good. He would be able to apologize in person for his bullshit behavior and then maybe he would at least have his best friend around for the holiday.

Neal rose, made his way to the door and opened it. "Moz, I'm sorry. I was a jerk and some days I really don't deserve your friendship."

***

Peter was surprised and happy that the person who answered June's door was neither the same young woman who had answered it on his visit two weeks ago, nor June. "I'm here to see Neal."

The older woman who opened the door smiled at him and said, "he just returned a few minutes ago, please come in."

"Thank you, I'll just go on up if that's okay."

The woman waved her hand toward the main staircase. Peter nodded and then made his way up the four flights, a nervous flutter in his stomach making the climb tougher than it should have been.

He took a moment to gather himself before knocking, and then before he could lose his nerve altogether he rapped quickly on the door.

After a moment he heard movement from inside the apartment and then the door opened and Neal was standing before him. He was wearing his usual bespoke suit, but without one of his famous ties and matching pocket squares. The beard, streaked with grey was new. Peter was so blinded by his righteous indignation that he barely noticed it at the pool; but it suited him, made him look distinguished. Before he had a chance to begin his apology, Neal spoke.  
  
"Moz, I'm sorry. I was a jerk and some days I really don't deserve your friendship."

"Neal?" Peter stuttered, taken aback by the way Neal answered the door.

Neal startled and stumbled back a step.

"Peter? What, what are you doing here?"

Neal sounded confused and lost and Peter knew something was off, but he couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

He stepped into the apartment. "I came to apologize."

Neal spun away to face the dining table. "You don't have to."

"Yes Neal, I do." He took a step closer. "I was wrong, and unfair to you and I'm sorry."

Neal shook his head. "I understand why you didn't believe me, Peter. I don’t deserve your trust. It's fine."

“It’s not fine," Peter countered. "When I confronted you at the gym, I didn’t give you the chance to explain, to let me know what you had accomplished and how hard you worked. You deserved that chance and now you deserve an apology.”

Neal shook his head again. He was still facing away from Peter, as if he was too angry or disappointed to even look at the man who had been his partner, and for all too brief a time, his lover. “It’s not necessary. Please just go.”

Neal’s voice was soft and plaintive, and now Peter was certain that what Neal was truly feeling wasn’t anger, but pain. Something inside of him that he buried years ago in the farthest corner of his heart, broke free and despaired at causing someone he had once loved, someone he still loved, to hurt.

He stepped forward intending to walk around to face Neal, to apologize again, to somehow try to make it right, and that's when he saw the dark glasses and the folded white cane laying on the dining table.

***

Despite the shock of his former partner's unexpected appearance at the gym just two weeks ago, Neal was completely unprepared to find Peter at his door.

At the sound of Peter's voice, Neal stumbled back, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide in his spacious, bright apartment.

Peter was trying to apologize, of all things, but Neal couldn't accept it, couldn't accept Peter's understanding, not now, not like this.

He spun away, hoping that Peter would believe that Neal didn't _want_ to see him, that he would take a hint and just go.

But, Peter was always tenacious. He never gave up when he really wanted something, and apparently, he wanted to make sure Neal knew he was sorry for not believing in him. Which Neal thought was hysterical, since he was trying desperately to hide the truth from him now.

"When I confronted you at the gym, I didn’t give you the chance to explain, to let me know what you had accomplished and how hard you worked. You deserved that chance and now you deserve an apology.”

Neal shook his head, hoping the gesture would help send the message he needed to convey. “It’s not necessary. Please just go.”

Neal heard Peter moving again, closer and then silence. It lasted so long, that Neal was beginning to believe he had imagined it all, that there had been no knock on the door and no Peter. But then his arm was gently gripped and then his traitorous body was moving until Peter was standing just in front of him, his solid presence unmistakable even to his blind eyes.

"Neal?"

In all the years that Neal had known Peter, through the thick and thin, though the times when Peter had hated him and the times he had loved him, Peter had said his name in a million different ways, but Neal had never heard it sound like it just did, tainted with such pity.

"Thank you for the apology, Peter. I appreciate it," he replied, explicitly refusing to acknowledge what Peter had just discovered.

Peter’s grip tightened slightly. “What happened?”

Neal shook his head again. He did not want to have this discussion, not now, when he was completely unprepared for it, not ever, if he could get away with it.

“Dammit, Neal! You can never just be open and honest. This is exactly what broke us four years ago.”

Neal pulled free of Peter’s grip roughly, anger suddenly burning in his chest. “Because it’s none of your damn business, Peter. You walked away from me, remember? You sent me to Newark and you have no right to walk back into my life now and make accusations and judge me. I left when you asked me to, now I’m asking you to leave. Stay out of my life.”

Neal could hear Peter breathing, sharp puffs that revealed his own anger.

“Please, Peter. I’ve made a life for myself, on the right side of the law, just as I promised I would, and I just want to live it in peace.” His tone was soft, pleading. The anger that had been so sharp moments ago was fading back into the grief that had haunted him since Keller had taken El and his chance of a happily ever after.

Peter didn’t say another word, but his breathing evened out and then Neal heard him walk out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind him.

Neal had no idea where he was, the sense of location that he had mastered in his own space deserting him thanks to the turmoil of Peter’s visit. He stumbled to his left, reaching out with his hands, hoping to find his dining table. Thankfully, it was just three steps away and he fumbled to a find and fall into a chair before his legs gave out.

He was shaking from the residual anger and the sheer misery that merely being in the same room with Peter now seemed to cause him. How he missed the days at White Collar, when he and Peter would finish each other’s thoughts, when they would spar with each other with sarcastic jabs and smiles, when Peter’s concern for him was about friendship and love, instead of pity.

They may not have been the most adventurous, most wildly fun and exhilarating days of his life, but they were without a doubt the best.

***

Peter sat as his desk reading the pertinent parts of the file in his hand for the third time. He couldn’t let the question of Neal’s blindness remain unanswered, and now he had to deal with the truth. His former partner had lost his vision when his cover had been blown by a past associate. He had been shot in the head, spent days in the ICU, and months after that recovering and learning how to live with his disability.

His supervisory agent, Dean Liu, seemed incapable of keeping his emotions out of his reports on the op and the days and weeks that followed. While it was clear from Peter’s perspective that there was no way Liu could have foreseen the arrival of a second-story man that Neal had worked with once in Cannes at the scene, Liu berated himself for not thoroughly clearing everyone who walked into the room where Neal ended up bargaining for his life and failing.

Later, Liu wrote of Neal’s indominable will to survive and how after three months of recovery he returned to FBI to finish out the few remaining months of his parole.

The file also contained the glowing recommendation letter that Liu had written to NYU even before Neal had been injured. Further evidence that from day one Neal had fully intended to keep the promise that he had made to go straight.  
  
Peter sighed and scrubbed his hands over his tired eyes. When he looked up again, Jones was standing in the door to his office. “You okay, Peter?”

Peter started to nod automatically, but then shook his head instead. “Not really.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Not unless you can turn back time.”

“Come again?”

“I’m reading Caffrey’s file from Newark.”

“Oh.” Jones’ eyebrows shot up, surprised that after all this time Peter would do such a thing. Since the day Peter had had Neal reassigned, he had never mentioned the former conman’s name.

“He’s a professor now, at NYU.”

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement and it set Peter’s thoughts reeling. “You knew?”

Jones stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. “Yeah. We’ve kept in touch a little.”

“Which means you know he’s blind.”

Jones nodded. “I worked for Dean Liu for a while back in D.C. He called me from the hospital, while Neal was in surgery. I went down to see him a few times while he was in the hospital and rehab. We still go out for a beer once in a while.”

Peter had no idea how to respond. Jones was free to do whatever he wanted off the clock and if Peter was honest with himself, he made it pretty clear around the office that Neal was never to be spoken of again.

“After Neal got out of the ICU, after we knew for sure that he was blind, I tried to tell you, but you shut me down pretty quick.”

“I don’t remember that,” Peter admitted.

“I said something like _I got a call from the Newark office_. It was probably too subtle an approach, but you were clear you didn’t want to know anything about it.

Peter looked back down at the file on his desk, wondering what might have been different in the past three and half years if he had listened to Jones that day.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I probably should have been more persistent.”

“Don’t be Jones. It’s okay. You were only following my lead.”

Jones nodded and turned to exit the office.

“Jones,” Peter called after him.

Clinton turned back toward his boss.

“Thank you, for being there for him. I appreciate it.”

***

Neal walked deftly down the street from his office to his favorite coffee shop, swinging his cane in front of him. The air was that crisp cold that often follows a snow, like the one that had fallen the night before. Neal knew that the white frosting the awnings and roofs was adding a whole new level of holiday cheer to the buildings already festooned in colored lights and Christmas trim.

There were a lot of things that he missed seeing, the view from his balcony, the art that he spent his days teaching others about, the pages of a good book, but the thing he was most nostalgic about was Christmas lights. Despite the fact that Christmases were not amongst his best childhood memories, the lights and the trees and the trappings of the holiday were always something he looked forward to each year.

With a sigh he refocused on counting his steps to the door of the coffee shop. It would be annoying at the very least if he got himself lost by way of a fit of sentimentality. Half a block later he made it to the door and inside.

"Hey, professor," came the call from across the store.

"Marcus," Neal replied to the barista who was usually on duty in the afternoons.

"The usual?"

"Please, and a cheddar scone if you have one."

"Coming right up."

Neal made his way to the counter and paid for his food. As he was putting his wallet back in his pocket someone put their hand on his arm.

"Moz?"

"At your service."

Neal smiled. He hadn't spoken to his friend since the night he had taken his misplaced anger out on him and it was a relief to know that Moz had forgiven him.

Mozzie led Neal to their usual table and then retrieved Neal's scone and latte from the counter for him.

"Latte at noon, scone at six," Mozzie said as he took his seat across from Neal.

"Thank you." Neal paused to take a sip of his latte before continuing. "I'm sorry about the other night. I was an ass."

"It's okay. I know seeing the suit again threw you."

Neal shook his head. "You don't know the half of it. He came to June's, just after you left the other night."

"Knowing the suit, he did his homework, found out that you were telling the truth, so what could he have possibly wanted?"

"To apologize for not believing me. Isn't that ironic?"

"And by that you mean he knows that you're blind," Mozzie responded dryly.

"Somehow he still didn't when he arrived, but something tipped him off while he was there. Could have been my answering the door thinking it was you."

"I take it that was not a good conversation?

"I told him to stay out of my life."

Mozzie sat back in his chair and eyed his best friend. Despite the reason for their breakup and the years that had gone by since, and all the things that had come during them, he couldn’t commit to the idea that Neal wouldn't be happier if Peter and Elizabeth were still in his life. He had done his best to support Neal in those years and he always would, but Neal needed and deserved more than he could give; he deserved a happily ever after. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Peter and I only seem to be able to cause each other pain. It's better for both of us this way."

Mozzie knew Neal meant it, but that didn't change his own opinion of what was best for his friend.

***

Much to his own chagrin, and against his better judgement, Mozzie stood at the Burkes' front door ten days before Christmas. He had been lurking in the pre-dawn cold across the street for the past half hour, stomping his feet on the still snow-covered sidewalk waiting for the suit to leave, so he could have a chance to speak alone with Elizabeth.

He hadn't seen or spoken with her since the suit had kicked Neal out of their lives and he wasn't sure how he felt about doing so now, but he reminded himself that this was for Neal and his own feelings on the matter, while significant and correct, didn't really come into it at the end of the day.

Peter had driven off about fifteen minutes ago, a suitable amount of time to ensure that he wouldn't double back and find Mozzie at his front door. He shivered in his patchwork coat and then rang the bell. Elizabeth was at the door a moment later, looking surprisingly unsurprised to see him.

"Come in," she said. "It's much too cold to have this conversation on the porch."

"Who told you I was coming?" He asked, scanning the space nervously as he made his way into the foyer.

"No one, Mozzie. I thought you might come after Peter's most recent conversation with Neal, but I didn't know for sure until I saw you across the street from my bedroom window. Coffee?"

Mozzie nodded. "Black, with two sugars, but only if you have organic."

Elizabeth smiled and retreated to the kitchen.

Mozzie took off his coat and followed, taking a seat at the kitchen island while Elizabeth poured the coffee.

She slid one mug across the granite countertop toward him and set another in front of herself. "How is Neal, really?"

Mozzie wrapped his cold hands around his mug. "Remarkably good, considering. Every day has been its own struggle, but Neal's stronger than even I imagined and he's found a way to survive and even thrive, at NYU. Not that I'll admit that to him, mind you."

El took a sip of her coffee before speaking again. "But these last visits from Peter have thrown him."

"Yes, too much," he replied, unwilling to keep the note of anger from his voice.

"And you're here to convince me to convince Peter to stay away?"

"That depends," he answered cautiously.

"On?"

"On why he wanted to go see Neal again in the first place. Obviously, I never wanted Special Agent Peter Burke in Neal's life and I still don't. If all Peter wants is to nail Neal to the wall one more time, then I won't need you to convince him to stay away from Neal, I'll make sure of it myself."

"It's Assistant Director now, but Peter didn't go to see Neal as an agent, or not because he's an agent. He still cares about Neal, we both do."  
  
"So accusing Neal of breaking his word and the law was Peter's way of showing he cares?"

Elizabeth pushed her cup of coffee away. "That's not fair. It hurt Peter to think that Neal had gone back on his word, that he'd gone back to living life as a conman. We never want to see him back in prison or worse."

"Well, you're too late on that one. Worse has already happened."

Elizabeth looked away briefly. "I know and I'm sorry we weren't there for him. I know Peter is too." The regret in was clear in her voice.

"Neal doesn't blame Peter for any of it, he should, but he doesn't. He blames himself."

Elizabeth frowned. "He shouldn't. It's Keller's fault, all of it. But it doesn't matter who was to blame. What matters is what we do from here."

"Agreed."

Elizabeth leaned over the counter. "Mozzie, what does Neal want?"

Mozzie pushed his glasses out of the way and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Neal will tell you that everything is fine in his life just the way it is, that he's content. But, I know that he's never stopped caring about you, longing for you, and I don't suspect he ever will."

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "He sounds just like Peter and me. But a lot has happened and I'm not sure we can work though it all."

"Are you willing to try? Is Peter?"

"I think so. Is Neal?"

"There's only one way to find out."

***

Two days later, Mozzie picked Neal up at the end of his classes in his hack. It was something that he did often enough, so there was no reason for Neal to be suspicious until they hit the Brooklyn Bridge and the cab's tires began whirring against the steel structure of the span.

"Mozzie, where are we going?"

Moz couldn't mistake the anxiety in Neal's voice. It was a tone he had heard far too often after Neal was shot, especially in those first few months when everything was new and frightening, and he literally had to relearn how to pour himself a glass of water and walk across his apartment without falling on his face. Mozzie hated that tone. He hated uncertain, afraid Neal. That was never who his friend was meant to be.

“We’re going to Brooklyn.”

“What? No! Mozzie turn around, please,” Neal begged from the back seat.

Mozzie gripped the steering wheel a little tighter to bolster his resolve. “For the last three and a half years I’ve done everything you asked, without question. Okay maybe with some questions, but everything, all the same, because it was what you needed. I’m still doing what you need, Neal, even if you can’t see it right now.”

“Mozzie, I can’t face them. Please don’t make me do this.”

“You either need them in your life, or you need to let them go, Neal. Today’s the day you decide.” Mozzie hated himself a little bit for his words, for their harshness, but he was right. Neal was stuck unable to be with the Burkes and unable set himself free of them.

When Neal hmphed and turned his unseeing eyes toward the side window, Mozzie knew he had given up the fight and had grudgingly resigned himself to meeting with Elizabeth and Peter.

The remainder of the ride was taken in silence. When they arrived in front of the Burkes' townhouse Mozzie got out quickly and went around to help Neal from the cab and up the front steps.

Before ringing the bell, the took hold of Neal’s shoulder and pulled him close. “I will be right here for as long as you need me, but you deserve to be happy Neal, more than anyone else I know. You deserve to be loved. I think the suit and Elizabeth are the answer to that, I think they always will be.”

Before releasing Neal and pressing the bell, Mozzie reached up on his tiptoes and kissed Neal on the forehead, a gesture of his own love for his friend.

***

When Elizabeth calmly told him of the plan she had concocted with Mozzie, Peter was insistent that it was nothing short of a terrible idea. Neal had been clear in their last meeting that he wanted nothing to do with them, or at least him.

But as he replayed that final conversation over for his wife, she helped him realize that Neal’s words were more a product of his response to Peter’s anger and guilt than a true telling of what might yet lay in Neal’s heart.

When Peter saw the cane and the glasses, he knew instinctively that Neal had somehow lost his vision during his work release as part of the White Collar team in Newark that Peter had reassigned him to. And of the many thoughts that immediately flooded his mind, the most pressing was that he was responsible for blinding a man to whom vision was the feast of all the senses. He had taken that joy away from a man that he loved and to add insult to that injury, he and Elizabeth hadn’t been there for Neal after it had happened or in any of the years since.

In Neal’s apartment his guilt had morphed into anger and then in his idiocy he had taken that anger out on Neal.

“This isn’t going to work, El. I’ve screwed up too much.”

Peter had been pacing the living as they spoke. Now El took his hand and led him over to sit on the sofa.

“Do you want him to be a part of our life again?” She asked.

“Maybe. He _has_ changed El. By all reports, Neal Caffrey, Ph.D. is a man worth knowing. One I would be proud to call my friend. But part of me is afraid that the things that made me love him are gone and that I’m the only one to blame for that.”

El frowned. “I’m sick and tired of talking about blame, Peter. It doesn’t matter how we got here, what was Keller’s fault, what was Neal’s, what was yours and mine. I want to move forward, and I want Neal to be a part of that future in whatever way works for all of us. We can’t go on just wondering and worrying about what might have been and what could be. Let’s find out, together.”

“And what if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he really doesn’t want us in his life?” There was sadness and regret in Peter’s voice, enough that El was sure she had made the right decision when she agreed to Mozzie’s plan.

“Then we accept his decision and find a way to move on.”

***

Neal was so anxious he could barely think to breathe as he stood waiting on the Burkes’ front porch. But then the front door opened, and Neal smelled lilacs, Elizabeth’s perfume, and suddenly a sense of peace fell over him. He hadn’t seen her since the night she had rescued herself from Keller and being in her presence again was a balm he never realized he needed. “El?”

“Hello, Neal,” she said as she stepped onto the porch and placed his hand on her elbow. He followed her lead into the foyer where she took his bag and his cane and helped him out of his coat and then guided him into the living room where Peter was waiting for them. The room smelled of pine and vanilla, like a home at Christmastime. In his mind Neal envisioned the tree in the corner decorated with ornaments and lights and a plate of sugar cookies frosted in green and red on a plate on the dining room table and he longed to see them.

“Neal, thank you for coming,” Peter said as El placed Neal’s hand on the back of the club chair.

He nodded, unsure of how to answer, unsure of how truly welcome he was in their home.

“Let’s sit,” El suggested as she took Peter’s hand and led him to the sofa.

Neal felt his way around the chair and sat.

It was quiet for a moment and then Peter spoke again. “Neal, I want to start by apologizing. I’m sorry for, well, for a lot of things. I’m sorry for not giving you the benefit of the doubt, for not giving you the chance to explain, for jumping to conclusions more than once. I’m sorry for taking my anger and my guilt out on you. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Neal didn't even need to consider his reply. “Apology accepted. I wasn’t lying when I told you I understood why you didn’t trust me, Peter. I didn’t deserve your trust four years ago and you had no reason to believe that I might deserve it now.”

Peter sighed. “It’s not just about trust, Neal. After all that we did for each, all that we meant to each other, you deserved a conversation, not just my condemnation.”

Neal nodded. "That's true. I can't deny that it felt like you ambushed me at the pool. And, I can't deny that it hurt, that you assumed I had to be lying about NYU."

"I'm sorry for that too. I don't want to hurt you Neal."

Neal lips tilted up to hint at a smile. "I know, Peter. That's not who you are." Neal took a deep breath and then continued. "I know sending me to the Newark office wasn't about hurting me either." He pointed up toward his face. "This had nothing to do with you. It was bad luck, fate, whatever you want to call it, but it wasn't because you sent me away, or because you weren't there to watch my back. Okay?"

Peter was glad that Neal couldn't see the tears that had gathered the corners of his eyes. "Okay."

It was clear to El that Peter needed a moment to gather himself, so she asked the question that had been foremost in her mind. "What made you decide to go back to school?"

Neal shrugged. "It was pretty simple really. I wanted to be the guy you always wanted me to be and I knew that in order to make a living after my work release was done I would need to at least get an undergraduate degree. And, then I got lucky. The dean of my department at NYU, Alan Kittridge, he was willing to take a chance on me. Thanks to him, I finished my undergrad degree in three semesters. Well, four, if you include the one I needed to take off when I was hurt. Then he talked me into doing a combined Master's/Ph.D. program with the promise of a real job, with benefits and a 401K when I was finished. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but it was worth it and I really enjoy teaching.

"I'm curious how you found out I was there?"

"I've gotten back into art sales and I decided I needed to up my game," El said. "I'm starting the Master's degree program in January. In fact, there's a class on Italian Renaissance painters that I'm planning to sign up for. How would you feel about being my professor?"

"I think I would like that, assuming you aren't looking for any favoritism. I play strictly by the rules now, you know."

"We know," Peter replied.

There was conviction in Peter's tone and Neal suddenly felt light. Nothing in his life had ever been harder than keeping that promise to Peter and Elizabeth. But he had succeeded, and they knew it and every test and every paper and every time he had tripped on a curb, or burned himself on the stove or struggled with his blindness in any way had been worth it to get to this place right here, right now.

"Thank you for keeping your promise and for becoming the man I always knew you could be. I'm proud of you Neal."

"Thank you. That means a lot."

When Neal pulled off his glasses and swiped at the tears in his eyes, Peter reacted in the only way he could. He got up, gently pulled Neal to his feet and wrapped him in his arms. Neal returned the hug, squeezing Peter tightly to his chest. "Where do we go from here?" He asked.  
  
"That depends," Peter began as he released his hold on Neal.

"On what?"

Peter guided Neal back to sit in the chair and then he sat on the corner of the coffee table, so he could keep one hand on Neal's knee. "El and I, we both still care about you and it's been four years, so we want to take it slow, but we would like you to be a part of our life again, if that's something you might want. "Do you still care about us?"

Neal thought about what Mozzie had said on the porch just twenty minutes ago. _You deserve to be loved._ His friend was right, he did deserve to be loved, he had earned it and this was a chance to start again with the two people who meant everything to him.

"You're my first thought when I wake every morning and my last thought as I fall asleep every night. I loved you four years ago, and I still love you now."

Epilogue

Neal stood on the Burkes' front porch with his overnight bag, a bouquet of roses for El and another small shopping bag with the gifts he had brought. Mozzie had once again driven him out to Brooklyn, but today he hadn't waited for Neal. Once his friend was safely on the porch, Moz had turned the cab around and headed straight back to Manhattan knowing that Neal wouldn't be needing him again until tomorrow evening.  
  
It was Peter who opened the door on this Christmas Eve. "Hey!"

"Hey!"

"Let me get that stuff for you," Peter said as he took the shopping bag from Neal's hand and then slid the overnight bag off his shoulder.

"Thanks."

"Come on in."

"Can I um, take your elbow."

"Oh, sure, sorry. It's right in front of you."

Neal smiled and reached out to find Peter's flannel-covered arm.

They found Elizabeth in the kitchen working on dinner. Neal presented her with the flowers and she kissed him on the cheek.

"Can I help with anything?"

"Everything's almost ready. You can help by keeping my company."

Neal felt his way around the island to one of the barstools. He took a sniff of the aromas coming from the stove. "Please tell me we're not having Peter's pot roast for dinner?"

"Hey," Peter called from somewhere on Neal's left.

"Bite your tongue," El replied. "This is a beautiful roast beef."

Neal heard Peter come up beside him. He took Neal's hand and placed it on the stem of the wineglass he had put on the counter in front of him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I've put you bag up in the guest room and the gifts under the tree."

"Perfect, thank you."

Dinner was soon ready and then the three of them sat at the table and ate and talked and laughed. When they were finally full of beef and potatoes and apple pie, Peter led Neal out to the sofa in the living room and sat down beside him. When El joined them a few minutes later, she sat on Neal's other side and took one of his hands in hers.

Peter turned on White Christmas and Neal listened as Bing and Danny bickered like an old married couple. "Is it okay that the tv is on?" Peter asked solicitously.

Neal nodded. "I could listen to these old musicals any time."

Peter wrapped an arm around Neal's shoulders and Neal snuggled in to rest his head on Peter's shoulder.

A fire was crackling in the fireplace, bathing the room in warmth. The smell of pine and apples lingered in the air. El's softness and Peter's strength surrounded him as he listened to Bing Crosby croon.

For the first time in three and half years Neal didn't feel blind. He knew exactly where he was, and it was exactly where he wanted to be.

 

 


End file.
